


it's late

by Anonymous



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Bulimia, Eating Disorders, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, kind of just wrote this as vent, triggering content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 03:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: john is struggling and brian takes notice.(please don't read if content regarding eating disorders and mental illness triggers you)





	it's late

**Author's Note:**

> this was written as vent, and then turned into an actual fic, so i decided to post it.
> 
> TW FOR EATING DISORDERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lowercase and fucked up grammar are intentional)

fuck fuck fuck fuck

someone was fucking knocking on the bathroom door.

john pulled his fingers out his throat, retching one last time, wiping the tears and snot and spit away before turning the shower off, in full panic mode at this point.

“deaky? you okay in there?”

“yeah,” he calls out, but his voice is scratchy because his fingers have been shoved down his throat for the past thirty minutes and it’s shaky because his whole body feels like sugar free five calorie jello right now and he flushes the toilet to get rid of the evidence that he doesn’t want to hold his food down. 

he’s been like this for a while---before he joined queen--- before he started living with queen. living with people who actually might give a shit about him. living in a flat with only one bathroom. he shakily exhales as he washes his hands and face, thinking (hoping) that whoever was outside the door has either left or only cares about doing what they need to do in the bathroom.

the moment he steps out of the bathroom he’s met with brian’s caring eyes and it takes all of his willpower to not look away in shame. 

“are you sure? did i hear you puking in there?”

deaky’s blood runs cold and he wishes he had gotten all of his meal out because a familiar wave a nasuea hits him and all the can do is apologetically smile and pretend that it’s not fucking normal for him to be hunched over the toilet every night.

“ah---yeah, something from dinner probably just didn’t agree with my stomach. i’ll be alright though.”

he moves to walk away and forget the conversation but now there’s a hand on his harm stopping him and he doesn’t want brian to feel how fucking shaky he is.

“deaky.”

it’s enough to make john break down, tears falling fast before he can feel some sense of control over them, over his emotions, over his addiction. the hand on his arm falters before he’s wrapped up in a warm embrace and oh my god why can he only think about how fucking thin brian is i want to be like that why---

“deaky, it’s alright. you can tell me.”

it feels like he’s melting and being smothered at the same time and all he can do is choke on his sobs because he doesn’t want brian to know, he didn’t mean for it to get this far, he just wanted to keep this to himself and not burden anyone, and now brian is concerned and it’s killing deaky.

“i can’t,” he almost wails, and his voice scares him. he sounds like a baby. and suddenly he’s trying to push himself away from the gangly guitarist because he loves the feeling of the other’s ribs sticking out a little too much and he’s half convinced he’s suffocating at this point. it’s mortifying to feel this weak in front of their guitarist and all deaky wants to do is hide away from the world for a little bit and maybe forget the past hour.

then brian wouldn’t have look at his fucking horrible body any---

“deaky, you need to calm down.”

it’s brian’s voice that interrupts the sudden swell of horrible thoughts and john takes a moment, breath shallow, thighs and hands shaky, face hot with shame and tears and he wonders when did he get so emotional all of sudden. where was the stoic quiet deaky? all he can focus on right now is his breathing, because if he thought about anything else he knew he might end up in another panic.

brian enters his limited field of vision again, and the bassist looks up at him with bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. concern is written across the guitarist’s face, genuine and soft, and deaky feels like crumbling into himself because he doesn’t deserve it he doesnt deserve brian or roger or freddie or queen or his bass or his friends or sleep or food or

“i’m sorry,” john finally manages to breathe, “i don’t want you to worry about me.”

brian exhales, slowly, knowing he needed to be patient. “john. deaky. i’m already worried. i’ve been worried for a while now.” all john could do was stare up at brian, wide-eyed and panicked again. “you just don’t seem yourself. you spend hours in the bathroom. i don’t know how much sleep you’ve been getting but you always look tired, and...” he trailed off, hesitant to finish his sentence, hesitant to voice his worries, “you’re so thin these days. it’s---how can i not be worried?”

it takes john so much fucking willpower to not immediately argue with a ‘im not as thin as you’ but he doesnt, he knows itll be suspicious and even though he knows brians already catching on he thinks maybe theres some hope because he still feels fucking huge and disgusting and he only managed to hack up half of his dinner and he feels like crying again.

but he doesnt.

just takes a breath.

“i think there’s something wrong with me.”

it’s that simple, really.

he hasn’t been diagnosed with anything. 

“i’m not well.”

that’s an understatement.

“can you tell me?” brians voice asks.

brian’s not a shrink.

brian is brian.

“i don’t want to---”

“worry me, i know. but i’d like to help you.”

god he feels like he can’t breathe again.

“can i--” he swallows thickly, “can i tell you later?” it’s probably the second time tonight they’ve actually made eye contact, but there is so much fear hiding behind deaky’s eyes that brian softens, nodding.

“yeah. get some rest. and then we can talk in the morning.”

john nods, wanting so desperately to hug brian again but feeling to disgusted with his body to do so. instead, he squeezes the other’s upper arm before disappearing into his room, exhaling shakily when finally alone.

fuck

tomorrow was going to be hell.


End file.
